


Overtired

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mood Swings, Pre-Slash, Sleep Deprivation, a lil bit of softness, am i projecting?, angst where the character hasn't gotten any sleep and they're being silly, at the very end in the last two sentences., ooft, soft angst, tired!q has a fucking meltdown, well the story is that I'm bad at slash and I'm bad at not-slash so here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Q,” Bond said. “It’s 3 am.”Q neglected to listen to Bond’s reason as he sat down on the floor and shuddered an inhale. “I’m a disappointment to England,” he wailed meekly.---Q hasn't slept in a long bloody time and Bond is witness to a sleep-deprivation-induced sudden emotional breakdown. It's… terribly written and it's supposed to be funny but it just turned out sort of OOC with a dash of tragically pathetic.





	Overtired

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally so bad lmao enjoy your trash you peculiar pumpkins.

At 3 in the morning, neither of them had any place haunting Q Branch as they were, or perhaps if either of them had any place there it was Q himself. The fact remained that Bond and Q both were somewhere that they should not have been at such an hour. 

Also Q hadn’t slept in 72 hours. 

The silence was companionable, Bond had thought. He had  _ thought _ , but it now seemed all of a sudden that Q was attempting to pick a fight with him. 

The younger man was pale, he hadn’t shaved in a few days and his clothes were rumpled. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were weary from staring into a screen. And Bond who had been standing quietly in the room was suddenly shocked by a voice which seemed to be shouting at him. 

He hadn’t even done anything, and Q was already trying to shout at him. 

“What is wrong with you?” Screamed a distressed sounding Q out of the blue, and Bond jumped away from the bench he had been leaning up against in case his touching something there was his offence. 

“What--” Bond tried, but he was immediately cut off. 

“You’re so reckless!” Q cried, voice raw with passionate distress. Bond fumbled on his defence and Q continued. “You’re surely not so arrogant that you don’t know that you’re going to get yourself killed!” Q screeched. Bond winced in pity of his high-strung vocal chords. 

Bond once again failed to defend himself from Q’s words, instead fumbling on a string of noises of bafflement. 

“And surely you can’t be so self-pitying that you’re convinced nobody would miss you,” Q continued harrowingly. 

“Q,” Bond managed, drawing the other’s attention. “It’s my  _ job _ .”

Q scoffed, gesticulating disbelief so theatrical and excessive that Bond would have guessed, at a glance if he didn’t know the context, that Q had been drunk. “And you’re so loyal to Queen and Country that it’s a sure wonder I hear anything other than ‘Your Majesty’ over the comms when you’re on your bloody sex missions!”

“You listen to…” Bond trailed off, deciding that  _ that  _ discussion wasn’t worth it. 

They were both quiet now, Q breathing heavily. That quietness, having come so soon after such noise, seemed almost to ring through the air. It was draped between them awkwardly, hanging from the corners and the shadows of the room like a ghostly presence. 

Q’s breathing became erratic, he paused it ever now and again only to choke on how fast his lungs seemed to draw in the air. “I- I’ve insulted the Queen,” he choked out, devastated, in amongst a sudden burst mucus-filled hyperventilation. 

He sniffled sorrowfully. Bond blinked at him, unsure what to do and tense as Q’s face crumpled and he started hiccuping out heart-rending sobs. Bond stood there helplessly with his brow furrowed, utterly unsure of how to proceed as Q began to cry. 

“Q,” Bond said. “It’s 3 am.”

Q neglected to listen to Bond’s reason as he sat down on the floor and shuddered an inhale. “I’m a disappointment to England,” he wailed meekly. 

Bond felt a stab of sympathy, but didn’t know what to do and tried reaching out to give Q a sympathetic pat, though that seemed to cause a brief moment of annoyance in Q, who glared at Bond’s hand before melting back into his exhausted despair. 

“They should just come and arrest me right now,” Q whispered despondently. 

Bond very nearly laughed, though he felt a touch of guilt when Q sobbed again and wiped his eyes with his fists like a child. “When was the last time you slept?” He asked, concerned. 

“Tuesday,” Q mumbled, causing Bond’s eyes to widen. He continued, his tone woebegone. “I’m ready. Deport me,” he whined, resigned, voice crackling slightly from the tears and shouting. 

Bond barked out a strained laugh, but regretted the action at Q’s immediate glance of melancholy betrayal. 

“I’m not worthy of this country or this kingdom,” Q sobbed suddenly. “Take me someplace far away where I can cause no further damage.”

“Q, please get some sleep,” Bond begged the distraught Quartermaster. 

“ARREST ME,” Q demanded. 

“Maybe later,” Bond said, his voice laced with panic. 

Q crossed his arms, and from where he was sitting on the floor, looked up to level eye contact with the man in front of him and began, abruptly, to let out a halting breathy wail of sobbing. He continued for no short amount of time before he slowly began to become quieter, slumping against the wall as his breaths evened out and he wearily stared at nothing. 

Bond looked down at him, still incredibly unsure of how to deal with a human being. He soon realised that Q had fallen asleep, and he decided, then, that perhaps there are circumstances in which he could reply to Q’s request. 

The holding cells are quite civil places, really, and if anyone asked, Bond did  _ not  _ tuck Q in. 

\---

Q couldn’t particularly remember at first, how he ended up in the holding cell. 

He had strong suspicions, though, when he woke up 12 hours later with a smile on his face. 

At 3 in the morning, neither of them had any place haunting Q Branch as they were, or perhaps if either of them had any place there it was Q himself. The fact remained that Bond and Q both were somewhere that they should not have been at such an hour. 

Also Q hadn’t slept in 72 hours. 

The silence was companionable, Bond had thought. He had  _ thought _ , but it now seemed all of a sudden that Q was attempting to pick a fight with him. 

The younger man was pale, he hadn’t shaved in a few days and his clothes were rumpled. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were weary from staring into a screen. And Bond who had been standing quietly in the room was suddenly shocked by a voice which seemed to be shouting at him. 

He hadn’t even done anything, and Q was already trying to shout at him. 

“What is wrong with you?” Screamed a distressed sounding Q out of the blue, and Bond jumped away from the bench he had been leaning up against in case his touching something there was his offence. 

“What--” Bond tried, but he was immediately cut off. 

“You’re so reckless!” Q cried, voice raw with passionate distress. Bond fumbled on his defence and Q continued. “You’re surely not so arrogant that you don’t know you’re going to get yourself killed!” Q screeched. Bond winced in pity of his high-strung vocal chords. 

Bond once again failed to defend himself from Q’s words, instead fumbling on a string of noises of bafflement. 

“And surely you can’t be so self-pitying that you’re convinced nobody would miss you,” Q continued harrowingly. 

“Q,” Bond managed, drawing the other’s attention. “It’s my  _ job _ .”

Q scoffed, gesticulating disbelief so theatrical and excessive that Bond would have guessed, at a glance if he didn’t know the context, that Q had been drunk. “And you’re so loyal to Queen and Country that it’s a sure wonder I hear anything other than ‘Your Majesty’ over the comms when you’re on your bloody sex missions!”

“You listen to…” Bond trailed off, deciding that  _ that  _ discussion wasn’t worth it. 

They were both quiet now, Q breathing heavily. That quietness, having come so soon after such noise, seemed almost to ring through the air. It was draped between them awkwardly, hanging from the corners and the shadows of the room like a ghostly presence. 

Q’s breathing became erratic, he paused it ever now and again only to choke on how fast his lungs seemed to draw in the air. “I- I’ve insulted the Queen,” he choked out, devastated, in amongst a sudden burst mucus-filled hyperventilation. 

He sniffled sorrowfully. Bond blinked at him, unsure what to do and tense as Q’s face crumpled and he started hiccuping out heart-rending sobs. Bond stood there helplessly with his brow furrowed, utterly unsure of how to proceed as Q began to cry. 

“Q,” Bond said. “It’s 3 am.”

Q neglected to listen to Bond’s reason as he sat down on the floor and shuddered an inhale. “I’m a disappointment to England,” he wailed meekly. 

Bond felt a stab of sympathy, but didn’t know what to do and tried reaching out to give Q a sympathetic pat, though that seemed to cause a brief moment of annoyance in Q, who glared at Bond’s hand before melting back into his exhausted despair. 

“They should just come and arrest me right now,” Q whispered despondently. 

Bond very nearly laughed, though he felt a touch of guilt when Q sobbed again and wiped his eyes with his fists like a child. “When was the last time you slept?” He asked, concerned. 

“Tuesday,” Q mumbled, causing Bond’s eyes to widen. He continued, his tone woebegone. “I’m ready. Deport me,” he whined, resigned, voice crackling slightly from the tears and shouting. 

Bond barked out a strained laugh, but regretted the action at Q’s immediate glance of melancholy betrayal. 

“I’m not worthy of this country or this kingdom,” Q sobbed suddenly. “Take me someplace far away where I can cause no further damage.”

“Q, please get some sleep,” Bond begged the distraught Quartermaster. 

“ARREST ME,” Q demanded. 

“Maybe later,” Bond said, his voice laced with panic. 

Q crossed his arms, and from where he was sitting on the floor, looked up to level eye contact with the man in front of him and began, abruptly, to let out a halting breathy wail of sobbing. He continued for no short amount of time before he slowly began to become quieter, slumping against the wall as his breaths evened out and he wearily stared at nothing. 

Bond looked down at him, still incredibly unsure of how to deal with a human being. He soon realised that Q had fallen asleep, and he decided, then, that perhaps there are circumstances in which he could reply to Q’s request. 

The holding cells are quite civil places, really, and if anyone asked, Bond did  _ not  _ tuck Q in. 

\---

Q couldn’t particularly remember at first, how he ended up in the holding cell. 

He had strong suspicions, though, when he woke up 12 hours later with a smile on his face. 


End file.
